John's Horrible Sick Day
by msshadowchinchilla
Summary: This day started bad and got worst. Can Sherlock help John? Inspired by PityMau's drawing. R&R Please!


**A/N: Hello internet! This is my very first fanfic. YAY! I was really sick today and sickfics always make me feel better. I couldn't find a good one, so i decided to write one. It is a lot longer than what I thought it would be but all well. I would lov****e it if you could leave a review with some constructive criticism or postive feedback. I'm planning on writing a johnlock multichapter fic and would love to know wha****t i can do better or what I should do more of. Thanks. Free internet cookies to all who read.**

**Warnings: None. Unless you count the adorableness **

**Pairings: Johnlock**

**Word Count: 1,454**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. That honor goes to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Trust me, if I owned it, season 3 would have started and John and Sherlock would be together.**

**Link to PityMau's picture. Go show her some love!: art/JohnLock-335522231**

******Read on my lovelies. Reviews are bundles of joy just for me! Love ya!**

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The day started bad and got worst. It was still early in the morning, and Sherlock was bored after not having a case for a week and was sulking on the couch. It was the idiot's fault anyway. He refused to take any cases the clients brought because they weren't 'interesting'. Not to mention I woke up with a pounding headache and a sore throat. He was about two seconds away for shooting the wall when Lestrade called about a triple murder. Sherlock jumped at the chance to catch a murderer, dragging me along with him. Luckily, the scene was close to 221B, so he could walk there. Then when we got to the ally the murderers toke place in, the first thing Sherlock did was insult the entirety of the Yard, and then proceeded to comment on Lestrade's failing marriage. Because God knows we can't go one case with out hurting everyone's feelings.

Then Sherlock started to deduce the scene. After Sherlock and I determined the cause of death, Anderson shows up and starts arguing about it. Of course by now the drugs I had taken this morning were starting to wear off and the pounding in my head was returning full force. It toke 3 minutes to finally get them to shut up and for Lestrade to get Anderson out of the room. After that, Sherlock swiftly finished his deduction and then it was time to actually catch the murderer.

So of course when we showed up at his door, he couldn't come quietly. He just had to make a run for it. And of course Sherlock couldn't just let Lestrade handle it. _NOOOO_, he just had to chase a psychopath around London. So, by default, I had to follow him around so he didn't get himself killed. We didn't catch the criminal until almost midnight. So when we cornered him, he immediately tackled Sherlock to the ground, and beat the living daylights out of him. I was the one who had to get him off Sherlock, and in doing so somehow twisted my ankle. It was only bruised but I wouldn't be able to walk on it for a little while without limping.

When the Yarders showed up, I was relieved. They arrested the guy and Lestrade gave us the okay to go home, making us promise to come to the Yard tomorrow to give a statement. As we entered the cab for the 20 minute drive back to Baker Street, I couldn't help leaning my head against the cold glass of the window. I'm a doctor for God's sake! I should have known better than to go around chasing criminals around at all hours. I was aching all over and my bruised ankle didn't help matters. Plus, now that the adrenaline rush was dying down, my head felt like it would explode. Then there was the tense silence that filled the cab and every time I glance over to Sherlock, he would be staring at me with a face that said ' I know you were keeping it from me you idiot'.

I was overjoyed when the cab parked outside of 221B. I was tired and felt horrible. All I wanted to do was get ready for bed and find a place to curl up and die. But the moment I stepped out the the cab, a wave of nausea hit me and I started to sway. Before I could fall to the ground, Sherlock had an arm around my waist and was leading me to the front door. I leaned heavily on him as he opened the front door and toke off my coat. I thought for a second that I wasn't going to be able to walk up the 17 stairs that lead to the flat being sick, exhausted, and having a bruised ankle. _It's okay John. You can make it up the stairs. You served in Afghanistan for God's sake! _When I looked over, I saw Sherlock looking at me with his calculating gaze.

"What's wrong John?" he asked.

"Nothing, Sherlock. I'm fine," I replied back.

"No your not. This morning when you woke up, instead of going to make a cup of tea you went directly to the bathroom. Presumably to get aspirin. Then when we were on the case, you kept rubbing you forehead. You only do that when you have a bad headache. You were also rubbing your neck, meaning your throat hurt. When you went to tackle the murderer, you became clumsy and tripped. You're never clumsy and when we exited the cab, you almost fainted. I do not think you are okay."

I should have known he knew I was lying. Well I am not throwing in the towel that quickly. "I am Sherlock." I started up the stairs. "Perfectly fi..." I started swaying again and my vision became blurry. _Shitshitshitshit._ Then, Sherlock was behind me with his arms around my waist. I turned in his arms and came face to face with him. We were no more than a few inches apart and if I leaned a little bit forward, his lips would meet mine. I gulped and then blushed, hoping he would think it was from a fever, but he could probably feel my pulse and already knew. He gave a small smile and let go of me and turned around.

Before I knew what was happening, I was being lifted on to Sherlock's back.

"Sherlock!" I yelled. "Put me down!"

"No."

I sighed, knowing I would lose the argument anyways. So I let exhaustion claim me as I laid the side of my head against Sherlock's back. I was blushing like mad. _Stop it John. _I mentally schooled myself. _You're acting like a teenage girl. _I decided to make one more last ditch effort to get him to put me down.

"I told you Sherlock, I'm fine..."

"No John, you're not," He said in his 'You're being an idiot' voice. "I'm the doctor now."

That made me blush even more, so I turned and buried my head into Sherlock's back. He just held me a little closer as he carried me to my room. He gently set me down on my bed and helped me take off my shoes.

"Will you be alright if I go get a few things from downstairs?" he asked me. I nodded my head and he smiled at me. "Good. Try to at least change while I'm gone, okay." I nodded again, to tired to speak. He left my room and headed downstairs. After the door closed, I toke off my jumper and trousers, wincing when I put to much pressure on my ankle. I thought about looking for pajamas, but was to tired, so instead I curled up on my bed and waited for Sherlock to return. A minute later, he came back with the first aid kit, an ice pack, and some tea. He set the tea down on the stand beside my bed and opened the first aid kit. He pulled out bandages and got to work wrapping the ice pack around my ankle. I winced and he mumbled a quick apology before getting out the bottle of painkillers and handed me 2. I downed them along with my tea and was already starting to feel better. Sherlock had a concerned expression on his face as he sat down beside me on the bed and began to run his fingers through my hair. I automatically leaned into the touch and scooted closer so I was curled against Sherlock's side.

"You could have told me you were sick John. I wouldn't have made you come with me," he said after a few minutes.

"I know, but I would've come anyways. Someone has to make sure you don't kill yourself," I answered back. We fell into silence again and this time it was comforting. I could feel myself beginning to drift off. So could Sherlock. He scooted me over and laid down with me. I curled up next to him with my arms around his middle. He gently put his arms around me and I laid my head on his chest, right over his heart. After a few moments, I said,"You could get sick too."

"I know," he answered back.

Another moment off silence.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking care of me."

He smiled. "Anything for my blogger."

Before I could stop myself, I whispered, "I love you."

He paused for a moment before kissing the top of my head. "I love you, too."

I fell asleep with a smile on my face and world's only consulting detective's arms wrapped around me. Maybe today wasn't such a horrible day after all.

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